Complications
by tee.tee.why.el
Summary: Teenagers are too young to really know themselves, let alone whom they love, so Sirius Black doesn't understand why everyone is so obsessed with that fluttery feeling that eventually goes away. To his great surprise, he is not alone in this belief.
1. Epiphany

**Title: **Complications

**Disclaimer: **I'm not as awesome as J.K. Rowling, and, therefore, did not come up with this story's characters, as they are all canon.

**Rating: **T/PG-13 for language and implied humor.

**Summary: **Life shouldn't be about love, finding your true soul mate, according to Sirius Black. Teenagers are too young to really know themselves, let alone whom they love, so he doesn't understand why everyone is so obsessed with that fluttery feeling that eventually goes away. To his great surprise, he is not alone in this belief. But when things turn down a road he's not ready to take, everything acquires a double meaning.

* * *

**Complications**

The latest Celestina Warbeck tune croons a ballad lamenting an unrequited love as couples, dotted around the room, snog the living daylights out of their partner, the professed love of their lives. Arms entangle with passion, backs arch with pleasure, eyes twinkle with joy, cheeks flush with delight, and lips swell in both ecstasy and pain from such an ardent kiss. Hair is mussed but no girl pays any mind to that minor detail. Lips are smudged with the shiny gloss of another, but the gents in the room have not even noticed. The fireplace even lets out a crackle from the heat that emits from every pair as they publicly proclaim that they belong to another, and happily so.

My lips twist into a satirical grin as I contain the plethora of condescending remarks I could make at the expense of these puppets of society. My best mates, however, constantly cast jealous glances at the various couples as they attempt to keep their minds on the subject at hand: Quidditch. Peter's light blue eyes keep lingering upon the back of a girl who is already _quite_ preoccupied with one of the Gryffindor chasers, and his eyes twinge with pain. Remus is trying very hard, I can tell, but his discipline breaks and he takes a quick glance at a couple that is studying at one of the tables, their hands linked in a statement of devotion as they pour over their combined textbooks. James doesn't even attempt to mask whom he is gawking at, for anyone could guess: Lily Evans, who, unlike everyone else, isn't accompanied by a partner. She is reading a book whose title I cannot read, her legs tucked comfortably underneath her as she rearranges herself upon the maroon and gold armchair. Her fiery red hair continuously sways over her face, like a curtain, and she angrily swipes it back so as to continue her story.

James tenses as Frank Longbottom, another gent in our year, swaggers up to her chair, leans against the arm with all the air of one who is too overconfident, and strikes up a conversation. Lily does not look up, and only answers his inquiries with the shortest phrases possible. Longbottom is aggravated, I can tell, for his face begins to turn the slightest shade of red. His mouth twisting and contorting, he kneels down to look into her eyes, places his right hand on her left knee, and whispers something in her ear. She freezes and lifts her gaze to look into his eyes.

And then she picks up her book and slams it into the side of his head with all the force of the Hogwarts Express. As he clutches his ear and gapes, she reopens her hardback to where she had left off, and continues her read. I let out a bark of mirth, for I can read the title now: _Dueling: Self-Defense Through the Ages_. Lily looks up from the text at my loud laugh, and catches my eye before flashing a self-conscious smile. And then she continues to read. Shaking my head in disbelief, I turn back to my friends, all of whom have very odd expressions on as they examine me.

"What?" I ask, looking down at myself. With a crooked smile I jest, "Did I spill something on my robes, or are you guys just checking me out?"

Peter emits a small chuckle and quickly glances away; Remus lets out a snort of amusement. James looses a string of laughter then peeks at Lily to see if she'd noticed that he was having so much fun. She hadn't.

I sigh, exasperated. Everyone seems so focused on love. It seems like it's their soul existence. Why do people care so much? We're only sixteen. Are we really ready to make that decision yet? Why can't we simply live uncluttered lives, free of every complication? Alas, it seems impossible for the average teenager.

My mouth twists into a frown, but no one notices, for they are too focused on members of the other gender, even my best mates. Peter's jaw quivers as he stares at the brunette snogging the Gryffindor chaser; Remus's jaw clenches as his eyes flicker from his lap, to the couple 'studying', and back to his lap; James gazes longingly at the reading Lily. I stand up abruptly, and it seems like a part of me has just died from this epiphany.

"Well, I'm going to head up to bed," I fake exhaustion and stretch my arms convincingly. "Good night everyone." I only receive waves in response, and I tromp up the stairs shaking my head in despair.

Can no one else escape the clutches of shallow love?


	2. Victory

"Hi Sirius!" Hestia flashes me a smile as she stops by my desk. "How goes it?" As she stands to the right of me, her long bangs slightly drooping over her shining grey eyes, fingers tapping unconsciously upon the hardwood of the table, I debate on how to respond. 'Well, everyone around me seems to be obsessed with love and I'm sick of it; I feel like I'm completely alone because my friends have left me to patter after the loves of their lives – who either have no idea who they are or hate them with a burning passion – and I'm completely fed up with this whole "being a teenager" thing,' doesn't exactly seem appropriate in this setting. So, instead, I flash her a confident and toothy grin.

"Pretty well, Jones. And yourself?"

"Oh, you know." She shrugs in supplication, for she understands that, yes, I do indeed 'know'. Her fingers dance in boredom upon the desk, flitting over old splotches of ink that have since dried and the stray scrap of parchment. "So, um…" she begins, her grey eyes following her wandering fingertips. "There's a Hogsmeade trip slated for two weeks from Saturday." Her bob of brown hair bouncing, Hestia glances up now, and catches my curious eyes before continuing, "Do you… Are you planning on making an appearance?" At this, her lips curl into an involuntary and wry smile, inwardly snickering, I'm sure, at her own joke.

I offer a chuckle for her benefit rather than mine before honestly answering, "I don't know," and adding a shrug for emphasis. It's not my fault that the Marauders don't plan very far in advance. Who knows? Mayhap our plans for two weeks from Saturday will have changed by then. But then I notice her small smile fading, and I quickly add, "But I'll definitely consider it, Jones." Hestia's smile widens, and I grin in response.

"Well, alright," she finally says, as Professor Slughorn proceeds to the front of the room in order to begin the day's activity. "I guess I'll see you around, then?" She cocks her head inquisitively, her short hair swinging.

"Yeah, sure," I assure her hurriedly as James slides into the seat beside me. Hestia's brow knits, but she picks her bag up from the floor where she had dropped it, swings it over her shoulder, and steps towards the far right of the room, where the rest of her friends are congregated.

James has his feet atop the desk, is leaning back in his chair, and has his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. "James?" I prod him carefully, utterly confused. He does not stir, and I try again. "Mate?" Suddenly, an enormous snore roars from his throat. Stifling laughter, I try one more time. "Prongs!" I shout, and nudge him rather forcefully. Slowly, his chair begins to tip over. _Damn!_ Frantically, I unsuccessfully attempt to grab the rim of the seat even as it continues to curve farther and farther away from me.

_Crash!_

"Bloody hell!" James swears profusely from the ground. He, and his chair, is spread out across the cold stone floor. "What happened?" he shouts, angrily massaging his head. Everyone around us is snickering, even Professor Slughorn, who, judging by the stack of papers in his hands, had just begun to hand out the promised exam that is worth a large portion of our grade. James scowls, and glares at me suspiciously, accusingly. "Padfoot?"

Containing laughter, I maintain my innocent visage and sincerely and honestly point my finger and say, "Wormtail did it!"

"WHAT?" Peter asks incredulously from the desk in front of us. "But… But I'm…" His brow knits above the darting blue eyes, his blond hair flying wildly. "No I did not!" he states defiantly, slamming his hand down in emphasis. "Sirius did!"

"What? Well, if you didn't do it, then Moony must have!"

"Excuse me? I did no such thing! Padfoot, stop dodging the blame. If you felt the need to touch James in such a manner that caused him to fall over, then that's your problem, not -"

"WHAT? Moony, you're insane-"

"No, no… Actually, Remus is pretty normal-"

"Stay out of this, Peter!"

"HEY!"

"Oi! Leave him alone, Padfoot."

"Why don't you make me, Moony!"

"What the eff is going on? All I'd asked was what'd happened?"

"Right, and I said that Peter caused it-"

"Which is totally untrue!"

"So then I said that Remus must have done it-"

"Which is completely unfounded; I would do no such thing!"

"So then… Who pushed me?"

"Maybe no one pushed you, Prongsie! Maybe… maybe… Maybe it was the wind!"

"Wind in a dungeon?"

"Sirius, can you _get_ any more dense?"

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean, Remus?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all… Except that you shouldn't always blurt out whatever heinous excuse pops into your head."

"And what is _that _supposed to mean?"

"…Exactly."

"Alright, boys, this is getting out of hand… Let's get back to the lesson now -"

"Moony, are you saying that I'm _stupid_?"

"Of _course _not."

"I think you are!"

"Pft, no I'm not."

"Okay, okay, why don't we all just get back to Potions now!"

"Moony, it does sort of sound like you're calling Padfoot stupid…"

"…Maybe just a little bit…"

"HEY!"

"Well, sometimes you _are_ stupid."

"I am not!"

"Have you _heard _any of your recent statements?"

"…I am not stupid!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Sirius-"

"But I'm not stupid!"

"-oft times it's simply due to genetics-"

"Oi! I AM NOT STUPID!"

"_ENOUGH!_" Professor Slughorn bellows, and all fall silent. He stands in the front of the room, chest heaving from either anger or mirth – I cannot tell from this distance. I bite my lip in order to prevent myself from snorting in laughter, and I can tell that my mates are having the same troubles as I.

It's good luck that we're all such fantastic actors.

"Now. We are all going to _SHUT OUR GOBS_ and take this test, are we not?" Slughorn finally manages, his flabs of skin no longer jiggling. His face is quite flushed, but his small goatee is no longer quivering. No one responds to his suggestion – because, of course no one really _wants _to take the exam – but it's best not to push a professor too much when his class has already been slowed by twenty minutes.

"Professor?" Lily asks meekly from her chair in the front of the room.

"WHAT?" he roars, but then softens the moment he notices who had spoken. "Yes, Miss Evans?" he croons.

"Professor Slughorn, I don't think I'll be able to finish in time," she says apologetically. "It's rather long, and-" She is interrupted by a burst of vulgar laughter from the class, but plows on. "It looks quite extensive, and I just don't think I have the ability to complete it."

She's quite right, for the tests themselves are enormous rolls of parchment that seem long enough to reach the floor. Even now, students are mumbling assent, and Slughorn is visibly weakening.

"But," he gestures helplessly. "I have nothing else planned for the day, and if I give the exam tomorrow, then-"

"What if we had a study hall?" Lily suggests shyly. "We could do other homework, and then when we next have class we can take your test and know that we did our very best."

"Oh… Alright," Slughorn sighs, fluttering his moustache dramatically. "Have your ridiculous study hall!"

"Oh, thank you Professor-"

"But there will be NO talking!"

"Understandably."

"And absolutely NO tomfoolery!"

"But of course!"

"And… and… there will be NO talking!"

"Erm… I think you said that already-"

"JUST GET TO WORK!"

The class instantly quiets, and, besides the rustle of parchment, no noise can be heard. I slowly pick up my quill and proceed to laboriously dip it into my ancient inkwell. Wiping it against the rim, I debate on how to accurately project my message. Crinkling my nose, I finally put quill to parchment and pen one single, solitary word. Sliding the scrap to my right, into James's view, I wait for the grin that I know will come.

_**VICTORY.**_


	3. Unplanned

"Evans!" I shout over the din of the hallway, even as people stare. Lips pursed, Lily slowly turns back around to face me. Her wavy red hair is pulled into a bun today, but wisps here and there have escaped their constrictive rubber band and float about her face. As I near her, the green eyes that James so adores narrow in suspicion, and she unconsciously clutches her book bag closer.

"What is it, Black?" she asks cautiously. Lily doesn't swivel her head to look up at me – for I am a good head taller – but only allows her eyes to move; everything else is as still as stone. I don't understand why she's so tense, unless…

"Don't worry," I assure her good-naturedly. "Potter isn't nearby, it's just me."

"Oh," Lily sighs with relief but quickly tries to cover it up with a cough. "I mean…" She smoothes out the pleats in her skirt self-consciously. "What is it that you want, Black?"

"Nothing!" I grin, shrugging my shoulders convincingly. "I just wanted to say good morning…"

"Yeah right," Lily mutters skeptically. "What is it really?" she insists, jaw set, and her hands on her hips.

I chortle, amused, before admitting, "Well, maybe there is one thing I wanted to say…" She quirks her eyebrow, curiosity shimmering in those emerald eyes of hers.

"I want to thank you for what you said in Slughorn's," I say, inclining my head in gratitude. "I hadn't studied for that test, and I probably would have failed, so… Thanks." The plain truth is that, had Evans not interceded, our makeshift plan would have fallen through. What reason does Slughorn have to give a study hall to two of his most troublesome students?

Eyebrows wrinkling in utter bemusement, Lily replies, "Oh, erm… It was no problem, Sirius." An awkward moment of silence ensues, permeated only by the echoes of other students' footsteps clattering down halls adjacent to this one. She coughs quietly before quickly attempting to fill the gap. "_I_ couldn't have finished it anyway, given the shortened time frame, and I studied for it, so it wasn't really for you… In case you were wondering-"

"Ouch," I gasp in fake astonishment, placing my left hand on my chest in agony. "And here I thought you cared about me!"

She laughs, humored, but then takes a quick glance at the old watch wrapped around her wrist. "Sorry Sirius, but I need to get to Charms." As we part, she backs down the hall still facing me, a forgiving grin flirting with her lips. "It was no trouble," Evans reiterates, shrugging her shoulders in understanding. "Besides, it's not like you blokes _planned_ to delay class, or anything."

As she spins back around and continues down the hall, around the corner, I turn the other way and head towards Transfiguration, the occasional burst of astonished laughter erupting from my throat.


	4. Pilferred Potatoes

"That, my friends, was bloody brilliant," I commend as I clamber over the bench. Snatching a turkey leg from the nearby platter, I flop into my spot besides Remus. "Exceptionally played!" I finish through a mouthful of meat, slapping Moony on the shoulder in congratulations.

"What with my superior acting expertise," Lupin pretends to polish his fingernails on his tattered jumper, "it was quite easy, was it not?"

"'Superior acting skills' my ass!" James playfully thwacks the backside of Remus's head. "I believe _I_ should be the one getting all the credit, here!"

"Hey!" Wormtail leans in. Gesturing towards himself, he clarifies, "But you all know that _I_ did most of the work, right?"

"Boys, boys," I urge calmly. With the expertise air of one who knows what he's doing, I take control. "We all worked together for a common goal: procrastination. Some may have worked harder than others, like me-"

"OI!" three voices clamber over each other in protest, each shouting to be heard above the others. Laughing, I sit back, preferring to watch them duke it out instead of interfering, or worse, taking sides.

"What are we arguing about now?" Hestia slides into the seat next to me, snagging an apple as she does so. My mates ignore her, having better things to 'discuss' at the moment, leaving me to explain.

Grinning cheekily at Hestia, I respond, "Well, James has just professed his undying love for Wormtail, but Remus is now jealous because he claims to fancy Pettigrew as well. Peter's fighting the both of them because he fancies _me_ and is having trouble warding off their advances."

"OI!"

"What did you say, Padfoot?"

"You bloody bastard, take it back!"

I am instantly engulfed in a mass swarm of flailing limbs, all of which have the intent of pummeling me to a pulp. I loose a string of laughter as I push and elbow with all of my strength, reveling in the physical exercise.

"Erm… Hestia, what are they doing?"

"Evans!" James blurts in surprise and instantly ceases the incessant bruising of my shoulder. Taking advantage of his weakness, as any best friend should, I shove Prongs's back as hard as I can muster, and he tumbles off the bench into a battered heap on the floor. The entire section around us erupts in laughter and James flushes with either embarrassment or anger. Or both. "You BLOODY SON OF A-"

"_POTTER!_" Lily shouts over him in warning. James halts midsentence and blinks, astonished, at the redhead before him. A slow smirk begins to curl his lips, and a mischievous twinkle sparks behind his brown eyes.

Watching Evans carefully, James's grin tilts antagonistically as he calmly restates his prior sentence, punctuating every word: "You. Bloody. Son. Of. A. _BITCH._" Lips folding and creasing, he cocks his eyebrow at Lily defiantly, daring her to retaliate. There is a pregnant pause that seems to last an eternity before…

"You _pig_," she snaps angrily before swinging her leg over the bench, sinking into the place across from mine. Lily decides to completely ignore Potter, and pointedly glares at the direction opposite his position at the table. "What were you blokes fighting about, anyway?" she questions curiously, choosing a breadstick from the platter after much deliberation.

"Absolutely nothing," James is quick to assure her, shooting me a death glare all the while. Grinning angelically in response, I merely continue plowing through my plate of mashed potatoes.

"Sirius?" she insists pointedly, acting as though she hadn't heard James, whose cheeks swell with indignation. I look up from my food, cheeks stuffed with garlic potato goodness, to meet her desperate gaze.

Swallowing heartily, I assure her, "Nothing of great consequence," before shoveling another forkful of suppertime vitals into my mouth. She raises her eyebrow quizzically, debating on whether or not to ask once again. Her lips twist in deep thought, but, before she can make her decision, a dangerous voice lilts through the air. At the sound, James, Remus, and Peter unconsciously straighten their backs and Lily and Hestia scowl angrily, their eyebrows knitting above flashing eyes.

"Afternoon all," Emmeline oozes cordially, casually draping her arms around Hestia and myself. Hestia glares pointedly at the manicured hand dangling beside her head, but Emmeline ignores her just as pointedly.

Emmeline Vance is by no means a bad person, but she's very single-minded. Emmeline wants what Emmeline wants, and nothing will ever change that. Nothing. She comes from very wealthy ancestry, her parents are familiar with James's, but they spoil her rotten. If she wants a cat she'll have one within a day. If she wants three cats she'll have them by the end of the week, tops. She goes through life expecting everything to be given to her on a platter, and when things don't come through in the way that she wants, she is a sight to behold and a menace to avoid.

"Hello Vance." Evans grits her teeth but manages to smile all the same. "And what brings you down to this end of the Gryffindor table?"

"Oh, I just wanted to greet you all!" she responds happily, grinning at each of us in turn. Remus merely inclines his head in greeting as her eyes connect with his, but both James and Peter noticeably react to each exchange, Peter by flushing a red so violent his cheeks look like enormous tomatoes, and James by flashing her a cocky smirk and a devilish wink. Neither Hestia nor Lily show any signs of polite recognition even when Emmeline's lips twist in anger at their indifference. "And Sirus!" she squeaks, delicately placing both her hands on my shoulders. "How are you, darling?"

'Darling'? Emmeline Vance represents the kind of girl that I loathe so much, and they seem to abound in this school. She believes herself to be an irresistible prize, and she wants to use that against everyone who is, no doubt, helpless against her unbelievable charm and grace. I instinctively roll my eyes at her folly before I can even digest the conscious decision to do so. I am, therefore, greatly surprised to see Lily Evans sadly nod her head in agreement from her seat across the table.

Moreover, she mouths, '"Darling"? Honestly?' and rolls her eyes in return. I chuckle quietly before grimacing in mock-disgust.

'You'd think she'd be a bit more subtle, yeah?' I whisper, earning myself a silent laugh on her part.

"Sirius?" Emmeline taps me on the shoulder, and I quickly whip my head back to look at her in surprise.

"Oh, erm, I'm doing well, Vance. Thanks for asking," I hastily respond, blinking a contented smile before turning back to my… empty plate? My eyes scan the tabletop before they land on Peter's bulging cheeks. "Wormtail!" I roar, reaching around Remus to roughly shove Pettigrew's arm.

"Oi!" he argues, holding his palms aloft in defeat. "Moony was the one who pinched your food, I just took a bite!" At the accusation Remus bursts out in guilty laughter, his teeth still showing the effects of consuming stolen mashed potatoes too quickly.

"MOONY!" I snatch his plate angrily in retaliation, only to find that the solitary scrap of food on it is _cauliflower_. "Eurgh," I complain, tossing the porcelain platter back in front of Lupin in disgust. "Couldn't you at least have chosen something good? There's no point in stealing it if it's _healthy_."


	5. Reinflating His Head

"Some day, eh Padfoot?" James elbows me playfully as we clamber through the portrait hole. "First we weasel our way out of a test and then…"

"And then what, Prongs?" I scoff, roughly elbowing him back. "Today was pretty uneventful, wouldn't you agree? Especially by our standards." Potter merely shrugs, slumping into the nearest armchair, the one closest to the fireplace.

"You have to admit," he grins, "that exam scheme was pretty brilliant." I laugh, nodding my head, as I sink into the couch opposite him. "That was some damn good improvisation." I laugh even louder, agreeing.

"Why did you fall asleep so fast, anyway?" My eyes flicker towards him then away as I study my robes curiously, brushing stray hairs off the hem. James shrugs, being sure to look not at me, but instead to gaze into the crackling fireplace in a pretense of deep thought.

"I…Erm…I…Um…I had to catch up on my schoolwork," he finally confesses in a rapid stream of air, and then glances my way, searching for approval. Under normal circumstances I would commence ribbing him about the dangers of becoming an academic, grade-grubbing student, but, for some reason, this time is different. It's not the fact that we're completely alone, and therefore have no audience to bear witness to Potter's humiliation. Nor is it the possibility that my philosophy – that homework abstinence is preferred to homework immersion – is incorrect. It's not. It's the fact that I hadn't needed to pry this information out of James; he'd given it up voluntarily. Something must be bothering him.

James Potter is a curious individual, I note to myself as he casts his eyes downwards in worry. Around other students he's the carefree, humorous, athletic, talkative prat that everyone loves, hates, loves to hate, or hates to love. Around us, the Marauders, however, he loses that mask and shows his true depth. Take, for example, how he interacts with a certain Miss Evans. He will toss crude remarks in her direction, slander her study habits, tease her mercilessly, and yet, as his closest friends know, as soon as he's had time to think about what he's actually done, he'll retreat within himself, responding to no questions, insults, or even jokes.

"'Schoolwork'?" I work to maintain my carefree tone. If my question had even remotely resembled a stab at his true, buried persona, James would stiffen up immediately, reeling back his willingness to talk.

He swallows noisily, glaring into the crackling hearth. His teeth grind against each other in reluctance. He's fighting against his better judgment, his very nature, by confiding in me, and it almost causes him physical pain. "Yes," Potter finally manages through the tense atmosphere.

Silence.

"What am I doing, Sirius?" he suddenly whispers, hanging his head in his hands. I freeze, unsure what he means. His head is drooped, shoulders sagging. Through his fingers I can see shut eyes, squeezed closed in -- what I assume is -- an attempt to prevent a flood of tears.

"…James?"

"Who am I?" he continues, never hearing me. His chin pulls up to rest on his palms, but his eyes only gaze unseeingly into the dying embers of the fireplace. "I'm a troublemaker," he says sadly, blinking furiously. "I'm a jerk, a _rake_." He says the last word with disgust, eyes flashing with an angry type of despair. Turning to me, the corners of his chocolate eyes twist downwards with such an immense sadness I wonder the sun doesn't make a point to shine James's own, personal sunbeam in consolation. "I'm a failure, Sirius." His voice whispers so quietly that my ears automatically strain to hear him. "A DAMNED FAILURE!" His jaw is set, eyes locked on mine, searching them for some form of solace. He swallows mightily, his breathing shallow from the energy required to contain his emotions.

"James, what the hell are you talking about?" I ask angrily, glaring directly at his surprised face. He instantly retreats emotionally, pulling back; he visibly _shrinks _within himself.

Locked in a tight embrace, his hands gently but frantically massage themselves as he casts his glance towards the carpeted floor and mutters, "Never mind, it's nothing-"

"James," I continue severely, disregarding his expected unease. "James, do you honestly believe that we'd still be best mates if I considered you a failure?"

He freezes.

Slowly turns towards me.

Gradually, a small smile creeps over his face, re-illuminating that cheerful, untroubled personality that I know so well.

"Now, Potter, don't go getting a big head-" I urge frantically, realizing my mistake in an instant.

"Too late, old buddy!" he claps me on the back, grinning monstrously now. "You've unleashed the big-headed beast!"

I groan theatrically before playfully returning his beam full-blast. Someday James will tell me the reason behind today's impromptu dropping-of-the-mask, but, for now, I'm simply happy that this step in his 'finding oneself' journey is complete.

"Speaking of perfect-"

"Oh, did you mention my name?" I rib him expertly, tossing a self-satisfied smirk in his direction. He artfully rebuttals with a masterful and tasteful display of one particular finger.

"Evans ignored me today," Potter continues, and shrugs his shoulders. He attempts at nonchalance, but fails dismally.

"Well, what did you say?" I laughingly ask, imagining every greeting James Potter could have offered Lily Evans, all of them ending in arrays of verbal confrontation, bloody noses, and hilarious cases in which my best mate's eyebrows grow long enough to pass as the carpet underfoot.

"Well, speak of the devil," he mutters suddenly, and I laugh uproariously – in steps Lily Evans.

Perfect timing.

"Oh, hello Black!" she waves to me before freezing mid-step upon sighting my best mate. "Potter," she inclines her head ever so slightly, keeping her eyes on the ground.

"Evans!" James grins coyly and pats one of the arms on his chair, "Care to join us? We could use another, prettier set of legs." He waggles his eyebrows seductively, to which she snorts angrily in response.

"As inviting as that sounds," Lily snaps, green eyes flashing, "I think I'll have to pass. Good night _Sirius_." After shooting one last death stare at the surprised Potter, Evans stomps up the stairway to the girls' dormitories, the echo of her slamming door reverberating for a long moment in the still air.

There is a pause before James asks meekly, "That was probably a stupid thing to say, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Prongs," I laugh, reaching across to awkwardly pat him on the leg. "That was most definitely a stupid thing to say."


	6. The King's Court

The atmosphere of the library is a quiet one, as is customary. Students hunch over enormous textbooks and voices are muted in respect; _reverence_. I make my chuckle boisterous on purpose, earning reproachful glares from nearby studiers. But, honestly, who, in their right mind, would revere a _book_?

Such madness.

This time I yawn, a sound even louder than my previous attempt to stir some life into these boring tributes to unsocialized, grade-obsessed, perfectionist sods everywhere. To my utter despair, no one even twitches an eye this time. My fingers absently trace a name etched into the ancient wood of the table, but it's illegible to my eye. I sigh, utterly bored.

I shouldn't be here – I don't _want _to be here. I'd much rather be out in the Pitch, flying with my teammates, than shut up in this airless torture room. Still, one sometimes needs to prioritize, and this is one of those times. I'd heard some mutterings – rumors, really – about my brother, and I need to know the truth. He always comes to the library when he has schoolwork to do; he's such a priss.

Oh, my brother.

I'd glanced around for the past two days, and, not seeing him, had simply left. But now I am determined to stay until I find him, talk to him. Convince him. However, despite my chivalrous and uncharacteristic display of familial care and concern, he has not shown, as of yet. Leave it to Regulus to make his older brother wait. And wait. And wait some more.

I yawn loudly again, _finally_ earning a satisfying, collective _shush_ing from the student body. I grin crookedly, finally vindicated.

The seconds tick by, as does my patience. Sleep threatens to crowd out every thought for Regulus as the stuffy heat of the library clogs my senses. I growl softly, shaking my head against the adversary. I need to find a way to distract myself until my blasted brother decides to make his appearance.

Enter my first brilliant idea.

I purposefully slide out of my chair in one fluid movement, landing on the black rug in a not-so-graceful heap. "Any of you cowards up for a card game?" I raucously challenge the library at large. Most of the heads duck in refusal, but a few perk up, interested. "Spineless sissies," I scoff at those who had declined, before beckoning the small, curious group forward. Among them are three trembling third years, who, I know, will not last the first round. Peter and Remus slouch over as well from who knows where, beaming fanatically, being familiar with the game and its many joys. I suppose they'd been around the corner, probably working on that Defense Against the Dark Arts project due tomorrow. Surprisingly, Emmeline Vance has decided to grace us -- we, the oh-so-unworthy – with her enlightening presence as she settles beside me on the rug with a smug grin. The six of us form a tight circle, with one of my filched packs of Exploding Snap in the center. The third years exchange fearful glances as I ceremoniously begin to shuffle.

"The name of the game," I begin ominously, flashing the creepiest smile I can manage, "is-"

"Too late for one more player?" a voice timidly interrupts my monologue. Lily Evans shifts self-consciously on the outside of our makeshift circle, her emerald eyes flitting from face to face, searching – I assume – for James's cocky smirk. Finding none even remotely close, she instantly relaxes, her tentative smile blossoming into a full-blown, toothy grin. James, not having a younger, rebellious, Slytherin brother, and, being a tad more dedicated to Quidditch than I am, is, of course, at the practice right now.

"Of course it's not too late," I assure her, purposefully making room for her next to me, strategically placing her between Emmeline and I. Vance scowls in a not-so-subtle way before flashing Evans a smile so welcoming that it's obviously fake. "I was just about to explain the game," I inform Lily before turning to face the rest of the group and dealing each player five cards, face down.

"All I can tell you is that you want to get rid of all your cards. If you're given a card, though, pay attention to the reason _why_, and _learn from it_. That's all. This is five-card Court," I order, picking up my cards with care, "I am the King, and Court is now in session."

"Wait, I don't get it," Emmeline whines the instant her cards have been picked up. Not missing a beat, I immediately pick a card from the top of the pile in the center – never looking at it – and slide it in front of her.

"Talking," I state as reason.

"What?" Her brow crinkles in confusion, leaving the penalty card in front of her crossed legs. I sigh, wuffling my scraggly black hair dramatically before giving her the next card from the deck.

"Talking," I repeat pointedly, throwing her a glare.

"Oh!" she suddenly exclaims, picking up the two cards excitedly. "I get it! I talked, so now I get cards-"

"Talking," I reiterate, sliding her yet another card. She finally ceases her babble, casting an anxious gaze at me before hurriedly picking the card up.

This is looking to be a long game.

Peter goes first, playing a three of hearts over the two of hearts I had flipped over from the top of the deck before the game had started. Remus is next, choosing to change the suit by playing a three of spades, being sure to rap his knuckles against the rug once and stating, "Three of spades." I'm next, and, wanting to educate the new players in the circle, I decide to use my seven of spades.

"Seven of spades, have a nice day," I grin mischievously at Lily beside me, who looks back with a completely bemused expression. I wait, my eyebrows raised, looking at her expectantly. She does nothing, only continuing to sit stock-still, criss-cross style, searching in my eyes for some kind of instruction. I allow a couple more seconds to pass before dealing her the top card from the deck in the center. "Failure to pick up two cards," I order. She grimaces, but accepts the penalty, turning to face Emmeline expectantly. Just as Vance pulls a card out from the fan in her hand, I deal Evans another card.

"Continuous failure to draw two cards," I warn her, stifling laughter. She slowly takes the card from my hand, brow knit in confusion. Carefully, cautiously, her hand reaches towards the center deck, and she draws two cards. Slipping them into her fan of cards, she lifts one eyebrow expectantly. I nod once in encouragement – well done. Grinning, Evans turns again to face Emmeline, who is studying her hand with immense concentration. After an eternal span of time, she laboriously pulls out a card from the middle of her fan and gently places it on the pile, face up. It's a ten of diamonds.

"Bad play," I snicker, handing back her card and adding the top one from the deck. Her eyes grow wide, and her lip twitches in agitation. Sighing, she decides to play a nine of spades, and glances my way for approval.

"Failure to name your spade," I gently rebuff her, handing back her card with another from the deck. She really is amassing quite a pile…

"What?" Emmeline muses in confusion, her eyes frantic. "'Name the spade'… Bob?"

There's a moment of stunned silence before Remus, Peter, and I erupt in muted sniggers. "No," I manage through my clenched teeth, "failure to… to…" and then I can't contain my laughter anymore. Guffaws spew from my mouth and tears trickle down my cheeks – Remus and Peter lose their control as well – as Emmeline and Lily look on in utter bewilderment. Finally, we are able to regain our self-discipline, and I look Vance in the eye. "Failure to… to… to state the number and suit of your card," I clarify before a small snicker escapes my lips.

"Nine of spades?" she responds hesitantly, and I flash her an approving smile before turning to the third year next to her, it being his turn.

The game continues in this manner of trial and error – mostly error for the newbies – and, as I'd predicted, the third years had thrown down their cards, frustrated, the moment they'd been dealt one card too many, leaving the library in a tuff. Now it is just Remus, Peter, Evans, Vance, and I. Well, it's really only between Remus and I, as the other three have amassed a large enough amount of cards that it is logically impossible for any of them to win at this point.

"Have a nice day," Remus sneers at me as he plays the seven of hearts. His tone might have sounded utterly cruel to an outsider, but I know it's all in the spirit of competition and sportsmanship. Besides, his grey-blue eyes show only gentleness, not a hint of harshness at all. I pout for a second, fooling him into thinking that his ploy could really work, before throwing out my own weapon: the seven of diamonds.

"Have a _very _nice day," I reply pointedly. The comment is directed towards the player to my left, Lily, but I glare at Remus while I say it. At this point, Lily should be picking up four cards, but then everything changes.

I had forgotten why I was in the library in the first place. But, as the double doors open with a quiet creak and a meek, hunched-over figure slips through before hurriedly rushing down an aisle piled high with textbooks about winged creatures with the ability to manufacture household appliances, I remember in an instant, and am on my feet in a flash.

"I fold," I concede quietly, my eyes following the hem of his trainer as it whips around the corner.

Remus gapes up at me from his spot on the rug, "But we're almost finished!"

"Sorry," I mutter absent-mindedly before taking off after my little brother, shouting his name.

"Regulus! Regulus, wait!"

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**Disclaimer: 'Court' is a real game, though I've renamed it for the purposes of this story.**


	7. Bloody Sunlight

**Thank you for the lovely reviews, and Happy Belated Holidays!**

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"Oi! Regulus!"

My little brother finally freezes in front of an enormous stained glass window at the back of the library. Sunlight streams through the array of panels, casting a rainbow of colors upon the stone floor and ancient bookshelves. A bluish beam strikes my face, temporarily blinding me, and I bring my hand up to shield my eyes.

"What do you want, Sirius?" he whispers, his back still towards me. The window chooses a green light now, and it strikes a violent contrast against my brother's shoulder-length black hair.

"I… I need to talk to you." My tone is light, carefree. He knows why I'm here, but pleasantries are always a plus. The price will be worth the outcome if I tread carefully. "I've… I've heard some things," I clarify, "and I just need to know if they're true."

"That depends on the rumor, wouldn't you agree, brother?" I can hear the small smile in his voice, now, and it brings one to my lips as well. Regulus and I had always gotten along fairly well – he had been my favorite relative. The rest of my family and I… we'd never gotten along. My parents had been after me to be their little puppet, the perfect display of gentile parenting. Needless to say, I tried as hard as I could not to be the ideal plaything. As a child, I threw tantrums when called to attend a social gathering. I mouthed off to houseguests. I rebelled against my parents' rules, their beliefs, their way of life. And then, this past summer I ran away, leaving my brother to fight his battles alone. It might have been the worst mistake of my life, I realize with a shock as my brother's body trembles within the thick cloak he'd evidently been given this past Christmas.

"Regulus?" I murmur, gently taking him by the shoulder and turning him around to face me. Despite the numerous layers of high-quality clothes, furs, and cloaks, he is shivering violently. His forehead glistens with sweat, and his eyes have enormous bags beneath them. His cheeks are sallow, an unnatural yellow tinting the skin. "Regulus!" I exclaim in a whisper, taking his appearance in. "Regulus, what the hell-"

"Hello, brother," he mutters, his eyes trained downwards, on his overly sized feet. When we were kids, unaffected by our parents' influence, I'd mercilessly teased him that his monstrous appendages could rival that of Bigfoot's. But now, today, in this moment, all of that seems irrelevant. Regulus's lips twist into a sardonic smile, "And how are you, today?"

"Bugger _my_ health!" I am shouting now, blatantly disregarding proper library etiquette. "What the hell is wrong?" Drop the pleasantries, brother! Why are you doing this – why are you killing yourself?

"Sod off," he mutters in reply, beginning to shoulder past me. My arm shoots out to grab his cloak hood and I swiftly reel him back – I'd always been the stronger one. He'd always been… the smart one, the one who'd listened to mummy and daddy.

"What are you… Why… Who _are _you?" I question sadly, forcing him to look me in the eye. He glares at me in defiance for a brief second before he drops his gaze.

"It's nothing," he scowls fiercely. "I just… I haven't been getting much sleep. That's all." Regulus grits his teeth through his claim, but I can see that he's telling the truth. Part of it. I've known my brother long enough to recognize when he's hiding something from me – Merlin knows he and I had lied an ungodly amount to our parents. It had all been in the name of childhood fun and innocence, the typical 'the house elf broke the vase, not I' phase that every lad goes through, but all the same. It is logically, physically, magically _impossible _for two people not to share some sort of bond between them after concocting half-truths and feeding them to naive adults. It's a code, of sorts. A law of nature.

"Is that really it, Regulus?" My eyes grow cold, and my tone hardens despite my best efforts to keep it light. "Or is there another part, perhaps?" He knows I know. Let's drop the act now, brother. The time for truth is upon us.

"Sirius," my brother finally looks at me, actually searching out my eyes. Trying to tell me something, trying to convince me to see it from his point of view. "Sirius, don't worry about me." That's not what I want to hear. He's doing it again, avoiding my true question.

"Damn it, Regulus!" I bellow, slamming my fist against the bookshelf to my right. It quivers, emits a puff of dust, then falls quiet. "Damn it, what the hell are you doing to yourself?"

He glares at me furiously, his previous vulnerability gone. I've lost my chance, and we both know it. Now it's just a question of how this confrontation will end. Damn it.

"It's none of your business what I do with my life," Regulus begins, his voice low and dangerous. Evidently, two could play the anger card. "What I do in my free time, who I spend my time with, it is _NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUISNESS!_" The pupils of his dark brown eyes quiver with rage, and, by his side, his hands are clenched into fists.

My energy deserts me, as does my fury, and pure desolation takes its place. I sink onto the ledge by the stained glass window, horrified. So it's true. The whispers I'd heard, the stories being told behind his back, they were all true. He'd admitted as much just now, to my face. He and his Slytherin friends, they really have been dabbling with – more than _dabbling_, more like dousing themselves in – dark magic. They've given everything up to live this life of drunken power. There is no longer any hope.

To my horror, my voice has begun to quiver, and I clear it gruffly before continuing. "What… What exactly… What, specifically, are you doing, Regulus?"

"I'm doing what I want to do," he hisses, still glaring at me. "Isn't that enough? Isn't that what you've told me to do all my life? 'Be your own person, Regulus'!" He mocks me, his voice high-pitched, squealing. "'Don't listen to anyone else'! 'Be who _you _want to be'!" His upper lip curls in disgust. "You're such a hypocrite."

I am weak, unfeeling. He twisted my words. I hadn't meant him to take them in that way. I had wanted him to rebel _with _me against our parents, their constraints. But now he was making it sound as if I was – as if I _am _– forcing him to be something he's not. 'I just want what's best for you!' I want to scream at him, 'It's for your own good!' But he continues to glower at me, expecting me to retaliate. I can't, for he's right. If I force him to be like me, then I'll be just as bad as my parents, pushing an unwanted lifestyle on a poor, young boy who should know enough to make his own decisions. But I can't just let him go! He deserves better!

"Damn," I whisper dejectedly, placing my weary head between my hands. This had been my chance to teach Regulus, to show him the light, and now look at me! Confused beyond recognition, not sure which way is up. I shake my head once, deeply chagrined. But I have to try. I owe my little brother that much.

"Regulus," I whisper, looking up at him with damp eyes. "Please. _Please_."

"I'm sorry, brother," he whispers back, looking out through the stained glass window. "It's not in my power to stop. Not anymore." Regulus gently places his right hand on my shoulder as I gaze beseechingly up at him, before turning on his heel and stepping down the aisle, towards the exit. The sun streams through a red panel in the window and it bursts on his black locks, turning them a dark maroon. The color of blood.

Suddenly, he halts his stride, and I glance up, hopeful. But he doesn't turn around, and my head droops again. "I heard you blokes on the rug playing Court," he tosses over his shoulder, flashing a sad, crooked smile. "I'll bet you showed those sods how it's really done." He swallows once, and then my little brother is gone, with only a flickering beam of red sunlight left in his wake.


	8. More Than a Bit Tipsy

**Wow, thanks for all of the lovely reviews! Sorry I haven't posted in a while... I have to admit: I've lost my passion for this story. Hopefully, by posting the chapters I've already written, I'll rediscover my love for it. We can only hope.**

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"We won!" I stagger from the clap on the back I receive from James. Or maybe that was due to the amount of Firewhiskey I've consumed tonight. "I can't bloody believe it!" he continues, eyes glazed over from the adrenaline of besting the rival Quidditch team. "We're in the bloody playoffs! If we beat Ravenclaw next match, we'll be champions," Potter marvels, pupils growing to the size of saucers. I barely manage a nod in agreement before I take an enormous swig from my glass. The Firewhiskey burns a path down my throat, and I revel in the pain. In the fogginess.

_A blur of green diving towards the ground, chased by a small figure robed in red and gold._

_The pair of players weaving through the air, chasing a spec of gold so minute, so fast, it is unseen by the sixteen-year-old forced to man his team's three Quidditch posts._

_The crack of Beater's bat against Bludger._

"Padfoot, you don't look so good," Peter murmurs, catching me as I stagger backwards.

"M'alright, Wormtail ol' buddy!" I slur, roughly pushing his arm off of me. "Just a bit tipsy from the win, tha's all!" He casts me a final, cautious glance, but seems resolved to leave me be.

"All right then," he grimaces, still eyeing me carefully. "Oh, look!" Pettigrew exclaims, his attentions suddenly and violently caught. "There's Emmeline! I'm going to go say hi." And, with that, I am alone again, caught in my own private bubble. My own private memories.

_The teenage boy with shaggy black hair watches with horror as the green-clad figure is struck by the Bludger. Crumples. Plummets to the ground with a sickening thud._

_There is a scream, which, he is surprised to discover, emits from his own mouth._

_Blood soaks the grass. Seems to soak the shaggy-haired teenager's soul as he hovers, frozen, by the center Gryffindor Quidditch post._

"Bloody brilliant, Padfoot!" Moony sets himself down on the arm of my chair, and grins magnificently at me. "Exceptional game!" I only mumble in agreement. Take another swig from my goblet. The burning sensation, once again, feels heavenly. So heavenly, in fact, that I decide to take another sip. I laugh happily as it trickles down my throat.

"…Padfoot?" Remus eyes me from his peripheral vision. He's checking my sanity, I'm sure. What else are friends for? Certainly not to comfort a friend, though! Oh, the thought! _Even_ if the friend's younger brother blames him for his life-threatening injury! Even _if _his brother hates him, wants nothing to do with him! No, friends are only there for you when it's to their convenience. Or when they're checking your sanity. I angrily take an enormous gulp from the half-empty cup, hiccupping slightly once the liquid is downed.

_Spectators clad in red and gold swarm the fields, celebrating the victory as a lone figure floats, victorious, above them, a winged ball of gold clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. _

_They pay no attention to the crumpled figure lying on the ground. Bleeding. Dying._

"Oh, don' worry about me, ol' pal Moony!" I mumble, waving my arms tiredly. "I'm jus' exhausted from the game. Tha's all!"

"Padfoot," Lupin murmurs, "Put the Firewhiskey down. It's not healthy for you."

"To hell it's not!" I'm up in an instant, clutching the goblet to my chest. It sloshes over me, drenching my shirt, but I don't care. Remus can't take it away from me. If he does… If he does, I will have nothing. Nothing.

_A stretcher managing to force a path through the crowds. Picks up the crumpled boy, who now seems ghastly pale, not blood red. The damned crowd finally realizes, staring in shock at the body being carried towards Hogwarts._

_The shaggy-haired sixteen-year-old is on the ground, racing towards his brother. _

"_Regulus! Regulus!"_

_The stretcher boy's rage-filled glare bores into the shaggy one's eyes. Halts him. Freezes him._

_Destroys him._

_The medical assistants continue to carry the brother towards the Hospital Wing. As if nothing had happened._

The entire commonroom is staring at me as I fondle my illegal cup of Firewhiskey. They're probably scared of me – or _for _me – I snort drunkenly.

Drunk.

I'm bloody _drunk_.

"DAMN!" I swear, taking an angry swipe at a nearby coffee table. It tips over with a crash that I don't hear. Why? Why did I do this to myself? Drowning myself in Firewhiskey will do nothing to help… to help… to help _Him_. He blames me for his injury; he doesn't _want _my help. He wants nothing to do with me. Wants me gone. Wants me _dead_.

"BLOODY HELL!" I bellow, then look around in shock to see who'd shouted such a profanity. Kids in the younger years are staring at me in both awe and fear. They've never seen someone in a drunken rage before. Some role model I'm turning out to be. I can't even help my own brother!

Before I can curse again, an angry voice infiltrates the haze surrounding my head. It's a familiar voice, saturated with reason, logic, experience. The voice sounds very trustworthy, so I decide to listen.

"Sirius Orion Black!" it shrieks. The voice doesn't sound too pleased with me. Still, I'm curious to hear more from it. "Sirius, stop this right now. _Stop_." So I do. I sink to the ground in obedience. The rug is comfy, I note with surprise, feeling the long hairs with my fingertips. Suddenly, I am filled with fatigue. "Sirius?" the voice questions frantically, but I ignore it. The voice no longer interests me, only the urge to sleep. So sleep I do. My body tilts to the left in increasing increments until it tips to one side, thudding against the red rug.

Sleep is the kind of fog that I welcome; it trumps any Firewhiskey-induced haze by miles.


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